The Mirror of Eden
by The Green Archer
Summary: Five years after the spell breaks, the former Beast's castle is invaded by revolutionists seeking an artifact with unspeakable powers. When an assassin named Arno comes to the royal couple's rescue, the world as they know it will change forever.
1. Prologue

_Author's Note: Hello readers, and welcome to my new fanfiction: a crossover between Disney's _Beauty and the Beast_ and Ubisoft's 2014 video game, _Assassin's Creed Unity._ I've wanted to write a crossover for these two (VERY different) fandoms for years, but being busy with _A Prince in Disguise,_ I decided to let it to sit on the backburner for a while until I finished it. What's convenient about setting this particular crossover in Unity is that it takes place in the same country and same time period (roughly) as BATB. It will also answer a popular question among Disney fans of what could happen to Belle and the prince if they lived during the French Revolution._

_To Beauty and the Beast fans who are unfamiliar with Assassin's Creed: I've tried to write this story so that you can still understand the plot without knowing the game, but if you are interested in learning more, I'd recommend doing some reading on Wikipedia, the Assassin's Creed Wikia page or even watching some of the (many) walkthroughs available on YouTube. I would particularly recommend watching "Assassin's Creed: Unity Lore in a minute!" on the LORE channel, which gives a 1 minute summary of the game without giving away any spoilers._

_To Assassin's Creed fans: While this story will mostly be told from the point of view of the Beauty and the Beast characters, you will see some characters from the game(s), though they won't be central to the story (just to avoid interference with canon events). It also will contain spoilers for AC:U and possibly the Dead Kings DLC when I get the chance to play it, so you have been warned!_

_Final note: Some of the references I make in this prologue might be confusing, but I promise that everything will be explained in greater depth later. This opening is really just to give a small taste of what's to come. So without further ado..._

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

_La Forêt Noire_  
><em>24 December, 1777<em>

The storm was getting worse. Louis-Henri Samuel d'Auvergnon, Prince of Auvergnon shivered as he pulled his fur cloak closer to himself, listening to the wind howl furiously against the walls of the royal carriage. He had hoped to be in Orléans by tonight, but based on the abysmal state of this blizzard, he'd be lucky enough to arrive before sunrise. Still, he knew it was best to keep moving. He could brave the cold as long as the item in the red drawstring bag beside him arrived at its destination.

For several weeks now, Samuel had fretted over his decision to give the precursor artifact to his enemies. He knew there would be risks what was the alternative? The device's powers were dangerous, and after his last meeting with La Serre, he no longer trusted his associates to keep it safe. Once it was under the protection of Mirabeau's men, he would renounce his position with the organization, resuming the responsibilities he had neglected for nearly ten years. As of now, his eleven-year-old son was back at the family château, celebrating Christmas Eve alone with the castle staff. Samuel loved his son, but his commitments to the order made it impossible to spend time with him. But not this time. This time, things would be different.

Suddenly, the carriage jolted to a halt, causing Samuel to push against both sides of the coach to stop himself from falling from his seat. What was going on? Had they run over a log, perhaps?

A minute passed, and the coach remained motionless. The prince was worried. It was not like his driver to keep him waiting. He opened the door, and a gust of chilly wind slapped him straight in the face. He pulled his scarf over his mouth, and bracing himself, plunged feet first into the deep snow.

"Eric?" he called towards the front of the coach. "Eric, is everything all right?"

There was no answer from his driver. Or if there was, it was overpowered by the sound of howling wind and rustling branches. Using the light from the carriage lanterns to guide him, Samuel trudged towards the coachman's seat, ducking under the low branches of a tree to see what had happened.

What he found made him clap his hand over his mouth in horror. Eric was lying on the ground, unmoving, a pool of blood soaking the snow under his head. He was dead.

_"Bon sang," _he muttered. He reached for his sword, but a second too late. Suddenly, someone grabbed him from behind and threw him on to the snow, sending his weapon flying from his hands. He looked up in a fright to see that he was surrounded by over a dozen thugs bearing axes and swords. Among them, a man dressed in a black cloak.

_"Bonsoir,_ your majesty," the man said in an unusually calm voice for the circumstances. "I'm sorry to have interrupted your promenade through the woods, but it seems that you have something I need."

All the colour drained from Samuel's face as he sat up from the snow. _Diable. _This wasn't just an ambush. These men were after the artifact. "Who - who are you?" he asked warily.

Slowly, the cloaked figure approached Samuel and lowered his hood. Underneath was a thin, middle-aged man with brown hair tied back in a ponytail. He would have looked rather unremarkable if not for the fact that one of his eyes was brown and the other was blue.

Unfortunately for the prince, he knew exactly who this man was. "Germain?" he gasped. "But Monsieur de la Serre, he banished you!"

"Yet here I am," his ex-coworker replied, spreading his arms out unperturbedly. "My banishment from the order was a minor setback in the greater scheme of things, you see. Already I have a small army at my command. Soon…though not as soon as I was hoping, Jacques de Molay will finally be avenged."

Samuel screwed his face up in determination, trying to look braver than he felt. It was a known fact that Germain was a fanatic of De Molay's work; partially why the Grand Master had banished him from the order all those years ago. Based on what Samuel knew of him then, this conversation could only go from bad to worse. "La Serre and the others will stop you," he said boldly. "Once they hear wind of your treachery, they won't hesitate to track you down."

"That is, _if_ they hear wind of it," Germain corrected. "They certainly aren't here to save you now, are they?" Smiling, he picked the prince's sword up from the snow. Whatever courage Samuel felt from his last statement extinguished like a flame from a candle.

"Look, just t-take the artifact," he stuttered, cowering backwards. "I want nothing to do with the Templars anymore. I just want to go home and - and be with my son!"

"I would gladly let you go, your majesty, only you have created a small snag in my schemes," Germain replied quietly. He stepped behind the prince and pressed his sword to his throat. "You tried to convince King Louis to reconsider his decision to declare the British colonies an independent nation. Why was that?"

Samuel coughed, the space between the blade and his neck giving him little room to breathe. "Because to do so would be like signing a death sentence for France," he managed. "We already lost so much of our resources to the British in the Seven Years' War. Now we'll be expected to ally with the Americans to fight the English, and we'll be in the same economic crisis as before, only worse! There'll be famine, riots in the streets, chaos."

_"Exactly _what I want," said Germain. "This country is riddled with filthy aristocrats like you, who seize power only for your own sake. But once the nation falls into chaos, I will be there to shepherd the people to their proper place. But I can't do that if you're in the way, whispering in the king's ear, steering him on the wrong path, can I?"

"No," the prince agreed nervously. "You're right. I won't meddle in the king's affairs again. I swear it."

"I'm afraid it's too late for promises, your majesty. The problem with men of your status is that you have too much power and are too close to the king. That is why you cannot be trusted."

Then, before the prince could utter another word, Germain slashed his throat. Samuel fell to the ground, choking on his own blood. In a matter of seconds, he was gone.

Germain remained unmoved as he stepped away from the prince's body. Some would consider what he had done inhuman, but he considered it necessary. Growth couldn't take place without destruction, and he couldn't afford to have anyone misguide the king if he wanted his plans to succeed. Turning back to the carriage, Germain spotted his henchman, Mickaël dismount the steps carrying a red velvet bag.

"Here it is, monsieur," he said presenting the item to his master.

Germain accepted the bag with a nod. "Good work, Mickaël. Take nothing else except for the horses. We ride for the _Château de la Rose_, next. We still have one more prince to take care of."

"The prince's son?" Mickaël looked surprised. "But monsieur… he's just a lad!"

"I'm not in the business of killing children, however spoiled and selfish this particular child may be," Germain replied. "But he will have influence over these lands one day, and will pose a threat to us if he ever discovers our business here. Fortunately, I know of another way we can dispose of him."

He looked at the bag with a shrewd expression on his face.

* * *

><p>By the time they reached the prince's castle, Mickaël was certain he'd lost all sensation in his feet. The horses may have lessened the time it took to leave the woods, but they did nothing to fight the cold, which only seemed to worsen as the night continued.<p>

As soon as they reached the front gates, Germain opened the prince's bag and pulled out a golden hand mirror engraved with several glowing geometric shapes. The mirror was like nothing any of the men had seen before, and they all felt compelled to get a closer look at it before Germain tucked it away and gave them their instructions.

"Wait here. I won't be long."

Once he passed through the gates, Germain pulled the mirror out from his cloak again. He closed his eyes, and in a flash of light, his appearance changed from a middle-aged silversmith to a disfigured beggar woman holding a rose.

Of course, physically, he was still the same François-Thomas Germain. Juno had simply designed the mirror so that it projected _the illusion_ of an old woman to any human who was weak-minded enough to see it. And the best part was, once the mirror's powers were activated, all it needed was the emotions of those around it to sustain itself. Feelings like despair, anger, hatred and hopelessness would strengthen the illusions, while love could deactivate the mirror and stop them entirely. Germain couldn't ask for a better diversion if it fell straight into his hands.

Satisfied with his disguise, Germain crossed the bridge and knocked on the castle door. A nervous-looking servant soon answered him.

"What can I do for you, m-madame?"

"I would like to speak to the master of your castle, if you please," Germain replied in the old woman's decrepit voice.

The servant nodded and closed the doors. Less than a minute later, a young boy swung them open again. He resembled Prince Samuel in every way, except that he had dishevelled red hair and an ugly expression on his face. Upon seeing Germain, he scowled at him as though he were the most hideous creature in the universe.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

"Please," Germain said pitifully as he held up the rose the mirror had conjured. "Take this rose in exchange for shelter from the bitter cold."

The prince sneered at Germain's gift. "I don't need a rose! Go away, you wretched old hag."

"Do not be deceived by my haggard appearance, young prince, for true beauty is found within," Germain warned.

"Did you hear what I said?" the boy repeated. "Be gone, hag! I have no place for tramps like you in my castle."

As he spat out these words, Germain felt the mirror pulse beneath his cloak. Just as he predicted, the artifact was responding to the boy's callous emotions. Everything was going according to plan.

* * *

><p>"Mickaël! Mickaël, take a look at this!" Germain's henchman woke from a start as his partner, Laurent gestured anxiously towards the castle. Something strange was happening to the towers. Before, they were as white as the surrounding snow, but now they were turning blacker than the sky itself. The thugs continued to watch, dumbstruck as the darkness descended from the castle to the bridge, changing the nearby angel statues into gargoyles bearing spears and tridents. Laurent pinched himself repeatedly, wondering if he was dreaming, but the hellish appearance of the castle stayed the same. All the men could do was stand and wait, hoping that Monsieur Germain would soon return to them.<p>

Ten minutes later, he did.

"What did you do, monsieur?" Mickaël asked his master anxiously.

"Given us some leverage," Germain replied. He didn't mention that he'd left the mirror back with the prince. "The villagers who live in these parts are uneducated and cling heavily to legend and superstition. Once they see the horrors that lie in that castle, they won't dare to come within a mile of this place. It gives us ample opportunity to carry out our work, undetected. Now, let us return."

Too scared to disagree, the men followed Germain back into the woods. From inside the castle, the prince, who now believed he was a Beast, let out a roar of agony as he gazed at himself in the enchanted mirror. Little did he know that in his despair, he had just sealed his fate for the next ten years.


	2. Bring Him Home

_29 April, 1792 (Fifteen Years Later)_

It was just after eight and night had fallen over the _Château de la Rose. _Prince Adam, formerly known as the Beast, walked out of his study with a torn newspaper clipping in his hand. Adam had never considered himself a reader, no thanks to the near-decade he'd spent as a Beast, but given everything that had happened in the past three years, reading had now become a necessity.

France was changing. In Paris, the _Assemblée législative_, born from the oppressed working class, were fighting for justice. They demanded freedom from their king's repressive laws and those who opposed them paid for it with their money, property; sometimes their lives. Given his own noble status, Adam knew it was only a matter of time before the people would be after him, too. Looking at this week's paper, he had good reason to think that day was sooner than he thought. Now he needed to find his wife so he could tell her the news.

Five years. Adam found it hard to believe that that much time had passed since he'd married Belle. It seemed like only yesterday she'd first confessed her love for him, freeing him from his decade-long enchantment. Since then, then his feelings for her had never faltered. She was still the same courageous Belle who had traded her freedom for her father's. The same Belle who could spend hours engulfed in a good storybook, who was adventurous, opinionated, inquisitive and stubborn to a fault. The townsfolk in her village may have called her "odd" for having these qualities once, but Adam wouldn't change a thing about her. She had saved his life, seen past his repulsive appearance, and for that, he loved her more than life itself.

As he approached the library, Adam noticed a light coming from behind the doors. Typical Belle. She must have decided to read a book before she went to bed. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything," he announced, opening the door.

The moment he stepped inside, he forgot all about the paper in his hand. All he could see was that light. Dozens of golden rays scattered across the library, along with several floating images of Masonic eyes, Phrygian caps and other ancient symbols he could not recognize. The more he looked at them, the more a terrible sense of fear and helplessness began to grip at him, a feeling he'd felt countless nights as the Beast...

"Belle?!" he repeated, his voice barely audible against the ringing building in his ears.

Belle looked up from her book with a start. "Oh!" Quickly, she threw her handkerchief over the golden mirror on the desk, extinguishing both its light and the symbols. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I didn't hear you come in."

Adam said nothing, too overwhelmed by the images he'd seen to speak. He leaned against a nearby armchair and breathed in and out rapidly, like a man who had just suffered from a panic attack. He couldn't believe it. Five years had passed since they'd discovered the magic mirror – or what remained of it, lying in the West Wing. Five years had passed since Belle had touched the glass, conjuring a series of images that to Adam, felt so _real,_ they'd haunted him for weeks. Belle had pulled out every book in the library on mirrors, symbols, enchantments and illusions, trying to find an explanation for the mirror's mysterious power surge, but all in vain. It was with great reluctance that she finally agreed to let her husband lock it away in a safe, leaving her findings inconclusive.

But here she was tampering with it again as though it were a children's toy! It made him furious.

Catching his breath, he forced himself to stand up straight and glared at her. "What were you doing with that?" he demanded.

Belle rose from her desk, nervously. "I was just–"

"I thought we decided to put that away!" he shouted. "Your father said it himself. Whatever that… that _thing_ is, it's dangerous! Just lock it up and leave it alone!"

"I only wanted to examine it, that's all. I didn't mean any harm."

"Belle–"

"Look, I _know_ what you're going to tell me," she interjected. "You're going to say I should give up on my research because it's a lost cause. And I _know_ we've already combed every inch of this library, looking for answers, but Adam, I just _can't_ give up! I need to understand. Why would the enchantress show up on your doorstep, curse you, then leave _this _mirror behind? It just doesn't make sense to me. Yes, Papa said that it isn't for our understanding, but that doesn't mean it's dangerous."

"Belle." Adam pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to put a lid on his growing temper. "It's not just about finding out what this… _thing_ is. It's about the memories it holds for me. I don't know what the enchantress's intent was when she cursed me. Maybe she wanted me to be miserable for the rest of my life. Or maybe she wanted me to become a better person. I don't know and I don't care to find out. I just want to put all those things behind me and think about the life I lead _now,_ not the life I had _then_. If I'd never been a Beast, I would have never met you. That's all I want to remember at this point. Nothing else."

Belle sighed. She wanted to disagree with him, but she knew he was right. Her husband may have come a long way from the self-centred Beast he once was, but there were many parts of his life he couldn't let go of yet. She had no right to open those old wounds again. "I understand," she said softly. "I'm sorry. It was selfish of me to pry into your past without considering how you feel about it first. I'll put it away. I won't look at it again."

"Promise me?"

"I promise." She nodded. "It will never leave its safe after tonight. Now, was there something you wanted to talk to me about?"

He turned to the newspaper in his hand. "Read this," he said, passing it to her.

Belle looked at the page and saw a caricature of a man lying inside a tall, wooden frame with his head underneath a huge razor blade. Next to the illustration, she read:

_Highwayman Nicolas J Pelletier's execution by guillotine had a tremendous turn out last Wednesday outside the _Hôtel de Ville._ Invented by surgeon Antoine Louison to appeal to the Assembly's new capital punishment laws, Madame Guillotine promises a swift and clean decapitation of her victims without the hassles of her predecessors. Despite Paris's less-than-pleased reception, many of the city's finest criminals are already scheduled for an appointment with her shining blade._

"Oh, Adam, that's horrible!" Belle exclaimed, turning back to her husband.

"I know." His face was sombre. "Belle, I've done my best to respect your wishes to stay here, even after the storming on Versailles and the Bastille. But we need to accept that things have gone far enough already. If we don't act soon, that might be _our names_ in the paper next."

Belle furrowed her brows. "And I suppose that talking to the people isn't an option at this point?"

"We could try. But it won't do any good if the king doesn't take a stand on these issues, too," he replied. "All these uprisings started because he didn't care to discuss any of the people's concerns at the Estates-General meeting three years ago. Now the people want to build their own government, one that doesn't need a king, or any other nobility, including us."

"And once the fire starts, nothing can stop it," Belle concluded.

"Exactly."

"So then, what do _you_ think we should do?"

"I'm not sure. But Cogsworth mentioned last week that his sister owns a boarding house in London. She could house us for a while, just until it's safe to be in public again."

"All the way in London?" Belle didn't look pleased with this idea.

"Yes. The living space won't be as big as what we're used to here, but we'll be safe and…comfortable. Mostly." Adam _wanted_ to believe that London was a sensible plan. But after spending ten years as a prisoner, having to hide himself like a fugitive didn't bode well with him either.

"And what about the servants?" Belle continued. "Lumiere, Mrs. Potts…?"

"I think it would be best to start laying off the staff a bit at a time," he replied. "At this point, it's safer for them not to associate with nobility like us."

Unable to think of anymore questions, Belle sank into the armchair across from her husband and pressed her hands to her face. This was a lot to absorb. It was one thing to see her homeland tear itself to pieces because of the revolution. But to lose the castle and the servants she'd come to think of as family? "I don't know about this, Adam," she said, looking back up at him. "I mean, going far away, _waiting _for France to fix itself, not knowing how it's going to happen or when? Not to mention we'd _both_ have to brush up on our English. And what about - ?"

"Maman? Papa?"

Belle and her husband turned to the doors with a start. A small, three-year-old boy had appeared in the threshold, barely high enough to reach the door handle beside him. He wore a plain white dressing gown and had short brown hair and striking hazel eyes.

"Julien?" Belle said, standing up and running to their son. "What are you still doing up, _petit?_ It's past your bedtime."

"Scared," Julien mumbled.

"Scared of what, _mon bichon?"_

"M-monsters."

"Monsters again, Julien?" said Adam, appearing behind his wife. "You're _really_ sure they're in there this time?"

Julien moved his head up and down furiously. "Can you come? Pleeease?"

* * *

><p>"Well Julien, we've looked everywhere in your room," Adam said fifteen minutes later. "Under your bed, the chair, the desk, the cabinet. But <em>no<em> monsters. I think this is all in your imagination."

"No no," Julien insisted, shaking his head as his mother tucked him into bed. "It was really there! I _sawed_ it!"

"Just try to close your eyes and get some sleep," Belle told him. "It will be morning before you know it."

"Can you tell me a story first?" he pleaded.

"All right, Julien. What would you like to hear?"

"Not you, Maman!" he protested. "You _always _tell me stories! I want one from Papa!"

"What do we say first, Julien?"

"Pleeease!"

Adam sat on the bed next to his son. He scratched his chin thoughtfully for a moment, then told him the story of _Tom Thumb _from a book Belle had read to him as a Beast. In the story, a tiny thumb-sized baby named Tom had been born to a poor woodcutter and his wife. Tom soon grew into a young boy, who caused a great deal of mischief in school. Later, he found himself in the castle of a wealthy king and queen who were amused by his tiny size and appointed him to be their private jester. They soon grew tired of his performances however, and decided to return him to his parents to raise him. By then, Adam's son was fast asleep, his hand balled under his cheek and a content expression on his face.

"Does it bother you to hear him talk about those monsters?" Belle whispered as they left their son's room. "Considering... what you used to look like?"

Adam shrugged. "He's only a child. Of course his imagination will get away from him sometimes. At least he knows he can come to us whenever something is scaring him. I know I could never be that way with my father. He was never around, and when _he _was, he barely gave me the time of day."

"Well I never met your father," Belle said, touching his arm, "but I know for a fact that you're doing a _great_ job with Julien. Just look at the way his face lights up and he runs to you every time you enter a room. To him, you don't have a single bad bone in your body."

"I just hope I can do enough for him," Adam confessed. "I was a spoiled and selfish prince once. I know nothing can ever excuse my behaviour then. Now we're living in a country of arrogant fools who care more about throwing lavish garden parties than helping the starving in the streets. I don't want Julien to be exposed to that world, anymore than I want him to become a Beast like I was."

"You know that things may not go as well as you hope," Belle replied. "Julien will see bad things wherever we take him. The world isn't perfect, as much as we'd like to believe it is."

"I know. But the best thing we can do is move him away from the worst of it. Will you please consider my proposal, Belle?"

She turned to him, her lips pursed. "All right."

Smiling, the prince squeezed her hand and the two of them headed back to the library. France was in a dark time, and would be that way for a while. But Adam knew the world would always be a little brighter with his wife and son by his side.


	3. Special Delivery

_Paris, France  
><em>_21 May, 1792_

In a sanctuary hidden deep beneath the Sainte-Chapelle Cathedral, Hervé Quemar, master of the Assassin Order, stood bent over a series of scrolls laid out on a table. So intent was his study, he barely noticed as a young man entered the chamber, dressed in an ornate blue tailcoat and beak-shaped hood. Arno Dorian, former nobleman and Assassin of the Parisian Brotherhood had hastened to the sanctuary after receiving a message from his master earlier that morning. He gently cleared his throat to announce that he had arrived.

"Ah, Monsieur Dorian," the old man said, looking up from his papers.

"Master Quemar," the hooded man replied. He avoided meeting his master's eyes as he spoke, and Quemar didn't have to be a lawyer to assume why. Arno hadn't been in the Order's good books since he'd caused the deaths of two of their council members over a year ago. It was catastrophic enough to break _one_ tenant of the creed, but to break it_ twice_ within a day was an offence that could not go unheeded. Even now, Quemar and the rest of the council were still discussing a suitable way to punish their Assassin for his insolence. But that didn't mean they'd exempted him from completing smaller contracts in the meantime.

"I suppose you know why you are here," Quemar said, getting straight to point. "I have a mission for you."

"Well then, I am yours to command, _Maître,"_ Arno responded.

"We have recently received reports that a small village in Orléanais is planning an assault on _Le Château de la Rose_," he began, pointing to a map behind him. "Word is that they intend to capture the royal family who lives there and sell them to an extremist group in Paris."

Arno thought about that for a moment. "Well, we are in a revolution," he pointed out. "The royals aren't exactly safe anymore. What makes this attack so different from the others we've seen?"

"What makes it 'different' Arno is that the people aren't leading this attack," Quemar explained irritably. "A Templar named Claude d'Arque is. He runs an asylum in the area known as the _Maison des Lunes._ We suspect he has been raising propaganda about the Auvergnon family so he can recover something valuable from inside the castle."

"Something valuable?" That caught Arno's attention. "You mean… a _treasure_ of sorts?"

"_Oui,_ but not just any silver or gold," Quemar replied. "If our speculations are correct, the item d'Arque is looking for could jeopardize the lives of the nobility and working class alike if it is found. That is why I am requesting that you go to the village of Molyneaux, uncover d'Arque's secrets and end him before he can carry out his schemes. He must not be allowed to lay a finger on that artifact."

"Understood, Master."

"Another thing, Arno."

"Yes?"

"If you can contact Prince Adam while you are there," he paused. "I have some information for him... only I feel it is best received in person. After you've completed your task, give this to him to read, and ask him to come back to Paris with you." He handed Arno an envelope. "I'm sure it will be enough to convince him."

Arno took the letter and turned it over curiously. "It's been resealed," he noted.

"It was a letter delivered to the council many years ago," Quemar explained. "We intended to burn it, but Mirabeau had other ideas. In light of recent events, I believe the prince deserves to read it."

Naturally, this statement made Arno even more curious than before. The Assassins had always been cautious about corresponding with the higher aristocracy for fear that they would expose the secret nature of their work to the public. But if the council wanted this information to be kept between them and the prince, Arno knew he had no right to pry. He tucked the letter into his pocket and nodded.

_I leave as an envoy and come back a deliveryman_, he mused as he made his way down the stairs.

* * *

><p>Though Arno wouldn't admit it, he was looking forward to leaving Paris for a few days. The streets had reeked of blood and burning wood for weeks, and with the city's recent food shortages, the riots had become more violent than ever before. Arno had tried to defend the citizens where he could, but as his mentor Bellec had once said, he couldn't save everyone. For every man or woman he rescued, it seemed the extremists only found another one to kill in their place. After all the bloodshed Arno had seen, a trip to the French countryside felt like a short, if not refreshing, retreat.<p>

Once he'd left the sanctuary, Arno purchased some ammunition from a nearby vendor and returned to his room in the _Café Théâtre_ to prepare for his journey. After a quick meal, he met with an agent in the café's courtyard who would take him to Orléans. From there, he would ride a horse to Molyneaux to begin his investigation.

"Going somewhere, Arno?" a voice asked as he waited for his driver to finish loading the carriage. He turned to see fellow Assassin and manager of the café, Madame Gouze, standing outside the entranceway with a curious expression on her face.

"Ah, yes Madame," he replied. "I'll be out of town for a few days. Could you put any letters in my room for me while I'm away?"

"I can," the Madame nodded. "May I ask you where you are going?"

"The council has sent me to deal with a Templar from a village called Molyneaux," he explained. "It's just a few miles away from the _Château de la Rose."_

_"Le_ _Château de la Rose?"_ Mme Gouze looked surprised. "That _haunted_ castle in Orléanais?

"Haunted?" Arno raised an eyebrow. "Where on earth did you hear that?"

"Well… I'm not sure if I should be repeating this," said the Madame, embarrassed, "but just a year before you settled here, a man from Molyneaux came into our theatre muttering fancies of an _unusual_ sort. He claimed that back in his village, he and a team of townsmen had stormed the castle to kill a _terrifying_ Beast. Only when they arrived, they didn't find a Beast. They found an army of moving furniture that drove them straight out the front doors! The poor man must have been scarred for months."

Arno snorted. "Sounds like the delusions of an intoxicated madman. Are you sure he didn't have too much to drink that day?"

"The thought has crossed my mind," Mme Gouze agreed. "I wouldn't put his story too behind me, however. There's been a great deal of talk about that château since Prince Samuel was found murdered in the woods nearby fifteen years ago. And right after they discovered his body, his son and servants vanished with no explanation. I'm not sure what the prince is telling everyone now that he has returned, but perhaps you will discover the truth for yourself while you're there."

"Perhaps," Arno agreed. "Provided I don't meet the wrong end of any… ferocious Beasts during my visit."

Mme Gouze chuckled. "Well, you've done a fine job completing our contracts for the café so far. I'm sure you'll manage."

"The carriage is ready, Monsieur Dorian," the driver announced.

"_Bonne chance_ Arno," said the Madame. "Have a safe journey."

"_Au revoir,_ Madame," Arno replied.

As he boarded the carriage, Arno shook his head in disbelief. He'd heard his share of fanatical stories from rubbing shoulders with the different social classes in Paris. But Mme Gouze's had just beat them all.

* * *

><p>Outside the city, Arno peered out the carriage window and watched Notre Dame de Paris grow smaller and smaller until it was a tiny prick on the horizon. From this distance, it was difficult to imagine that a crowd of revolutionists were tearing the city apart, fighting for food. Arno could almost imagine he was a little boy again, travelling to North Africa with his father, or going on a countryside retreat with M. de la Serre and Élise.<p>

Élise. It had been over a year since Arno had last seen his childhood friend, but he'd been thinking about her every day since they'd parted. They'd written to each other often, but her letters had become shorter lately, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of bringing her father's killers to justice. Not that Arno minded. He had always admired that determination about Élise. He wished that he could be that strong.

_Could things ever go back to the way they were before?_ This was a question that had plagued Arno's mind as of late. Whether he was stopping a band of extremists from killing an innocent citizen, watching a man lose his head to the guillotine or discovering another Templar responsible for the events of the revolution, he often wondered if this was really _worth _it, if what he – _the Assassins_ – were fighting for would truly make things right again. Perhaps he was naive, but Arno liked to think that it would. Because believing meant he could redeem himself of his failures. It meant that the world could better themselves from their mistakes. And it meant that there could be a future for him and Élise, not bound by their Assassin and Templar roots, but by their love.

But Arno knew there was much to do before then. Stopping this Templar from Molyneaux was one. With that in mind, he leaned back in his seat, opened his father's pocket watch and started counting down the hours until he reached Orléans.


End file.
